


Stay

by LadyZeppelin1111 (QueenBoudica1770)



Series: Page St James Guitar God [2]
Category: Led Zeppelin, Real Person Fiction, Rock Music RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Bisexual Female Character, Bisexuality, Car Accidents, Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, F/M, Family Drama, Female rock star, Female!Page, Genderbending, Guitar god, Humor, LGBTQ Character, Page St James - Freeform, Page is the only woman in her band, Secret Children, Sex, Sexflipped, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 15:50:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26740159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenBoudica1770/pseuds/LadyZeppelin1111
Summary: I probably need an intervention to make my brain settle down lol.All right, here is another story of genderflipped Jimmy Page, where Page St James, created by Wetkitty420, is the only woman in her band. In this episode, it deals with personal drama and the drama of the 1975 car crash that grounded the Zeppelin for a good while.After this Imma try to stop hogging the microphone and go back to my unfinished stories.  Lol.
Relationships: Jimmy Page/Original Female Character(s), Jimmy Page/Robert Plant
Series: Page St James Guitar God [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946401
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	Stay

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wetkitty420](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetkitty420/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Bounce](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26539969) by [wetkitty420](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wetkitty420/pseuds/wetkitty420). 



> Page St James, sexflipped guitar god and ultimate rock star.
> 
> Can also be catty when the situation warrants it lol.
> 
> You'll laugh! You'll cry! You might shit your pants! 
> 
> ....Sorry for all the feels. A lot of feels.
> 
> But there's sex in there so yay!
> 
> Thanks to Wetkitty420 for this unique idea that my brain went haywire over and I hopefully will be back to regular Jimbert. The implications though of a fearless, powerful female guitar god is endlessly fascinating though.

Stay

/1993  
Fate of Nations promo appearance

"Sure I miss her, but I got my own thing going on, don't I?"

Interviewer: You've described your musical partnership as a marriage. Do you think you'll ever reunite? Play music together again?

"Never say never," Robert laughs, scratches his nose. "Um, if Page decides to get rid of the bargain bin me, then maybe."

I: There's rumors you both were secretly married..any comment on that?

"Oh for fuck's sake," Robert rolls his eyes, but laughs. "I was married once, and swore I'd never do it again. That's from the horse's mouth. Or ass." He grins that saucy grin. 

I: Thank you for indulging me, you know the fans love romantic idea of you both, you know…

"Yeah, yeah. Well thank you for having me on your show," Robert says, and the cameras stop rolling.

The interviewer, a trim little brunette in a short skirt that had the singer eyeing her legs in, shakes his hand. "Robert, off the record, I'm just dying to know…"

"Did we fuck? Well, I think we did the one time, but I don't remember it. I never got any complaints though," he interjects smarmily, and decides it's a good time to exit.

"Are you ever serious when answering a question?" She calls after him.

"Only the non shitty ones," he tossed over his shoulder. The interviewer stares after him as he lopes away, blond locks bouncing./

1975  
Sicily

Hotel phone rings.

Page, who had been getting ready for bed, picks up. She'd been to Crowley's Thelema Abbey with her friend, the director Kenneth Anger, kicking around the possibility of purchasing it.

"Charlotte? Honey, what is it? WHAT? How are they? Just, just breathe for me, darling, breathe. Tell me." Pause. "Dear God. The children? Scarlet?" She sighs in relief. "That's good, at least. Cole's called in transport. Where are they--Rome? Then to London? When? I'm booking a flight to Rome. I'll meet you all at the hospital. Yes. I love you, darling. Good thinking calling Richard. Just keep it together, for them, yes?"

Phone hangs up.

Car crash.

Hand trembling, the guitarist replaces the phone receiver on the cradle. Dear Lord, Maureen could die, Robert's in serious condition. How the fuck. After collecting herself, she picks up the phone to get transport to the hospital in Rome. 

The mighty Zeppelin had sustained a serious hit, could it stay in the air?

Page reached the hospital before the medical transport got there with the patients. Maureen, her skull fractured, had yet to regain consciousness. Robert had been in and out. Page met the private ambulance Richard had hired outside, she couldn't wait, she had to see. She was assured the children though banged up, were fine, in much better condition than the adults. Robert's gurney reached her, and he saw her. He was strapped down, his arm and leg in a splint, his face bruised. "Page. Page! My wife is dying, she's dying," he sobbed. He was confused, on painkillers. 

She grasped his hand, walked beside the gurney as he was rolled into the emergency entrance. "She's stable, Percy. Really," she tried to assure him. Charlotte and Maureen's sister Shirley had came with Cole and were following along, stricken.

"The children, how are the children?" He demanded.

"They're fine, Karac and Carmen are ok."

"Oh, good. But how is Scarlet? You didn't mention her. Is she--"

"She's fine, Rob, she's in the best shape of all. They're gonna release my girl to me soon, in fact."

The singer calmed a little. "Oh, thank God. All three of my children are safe," he sighed.

Page blanched as they rolled him back, being instructed that she'd be able to see him once they stabilized him and got him settled. She looked back to see Shirley staring at her, eyes wide, but she remained silent. They had already rolled Maureen into surgery for another transfusion, so she didn't hear that, and wouldn't have heard at any rate, given her condition. The ebony-haired guitarist took a distraught Charlotte into her arms, held her, kissed her temple.

Dear, sweet girl, she's done so much for Page already, before this.

And now Robert in his delirium had let slip a secret she'd been keeping from the world at large, for the past five years.

SHIT.

Soon enough Scarlet, sniffly and bandaged, was given to her mother, who still hadn't been able to see Robert yet, so Page took her to the waiting area and held her, rocking, crooning in her throat as she knew the five year old loved it. One of the nurses gave the soon fidgeting child a notepad and a pencil, which she put to use drawing on. Charlotte was sitting beside them both, staring at the telly now, wrung out. 

Robert's leg, elbow, ankle broken. The initial assessment was that it would be a long recovery process, with a chance he may never walk again. Or alternately he wouldn't go back to the way he was before. Tour will have to be cancelled, future tours put on hold. What future did the Zeppelin have now? 

An album. If he recovered enough, not even to walk, they could still put an album out. Keep them going, keep them in the public eye, have a sellable product. Yes. Page had spoken to Richard, who'd been coordinating with G to get them to Britain as soon as they could be moved. And now, there may be more chaos if this gets out...Page put her face in her hands.

"Mum, what is it? Are you worried about Uncle Robert and Auntie Maureen?" Was Scarlet's little voice cutting through the fog in her head.

"Yes, and a lot of other things."

"I wrote a song for Robert. He always sings to me, so when I see him again, I'll sing it!" She beamed, proud of herself. 

Page gazed at her daughter as if seeing her for the first time. When she was born, she was a blonde little replica of Page, but as she got older, she lengthened and soon had a headful of curly yellow locks and was such a handful. She loved art like Page and playing with cameras but she'd recently become intensely interested in singers. And though she had her mother's knowing green eyes, she had a smile like someone she knew all too well. 

Oh, they'd argued over it, once he'd realised. Robert ready to leave his wife and the two kids he already had for some stupid idea in that silly head of his. Don't be absurd, she told him. The fallout, the publicity, it would be too much. It could sink the airship. It's not his problem to deal with, anyway.

"That's my child," he spat vehemently.

"She's mine! She's all I have, Robert. You'll see her just as much as you do your other children. We know how much you're home, being in the biggest band in the world."

"God, you're hard, Pagey," Robert said, the fight going out of him. He knew if she beckoned, he'd follow her anywhere. Do anything she asked.

"I've had to be, to get what I've got. And I'll kill for my little girl."

Robert knew she meant it.

Knowing the child was waiting for acknowledgement, she finally said, "You write it down and sing it to Robert when you see him," the guitarist tried to keep the hitch out of her voice.

When she spotted Richard she took him aside to thank him for what he'd done for them, and would have more yet to do before this was over. She also warned him of possible trouble from Maureen's sister. 

"In top of everything else, fuck me sideways," Cole swore. "Call G, better get him on it. I'll keep an ear out and see if anything's said while we're here."

"Going to ring him soon as we're done. Also phone Barb, she can be thinking of options if Maureen's family try something."

"Good idea, boss. I wouldn't even fuck with Barb," he chortled. 

May 1973

Atlanta, GA

Page's slumbering face scrunched up under the sunlight bathing it in its morning light, then she stirred at last. "Mmmph," she smacked her lips and opened crusty eyes to see Robert standing in front of one of the hotel room windows, nude, yawning. Of course he would open up the heavy curtains to let the cheery sun shine in and wake her up. He turned to her, smiling. 

He really was stunning to look at, there were times she was used to it, and others when it slapped her in the face like a brick. "Percy, that's too bright. And come away from the window, you'll cause a traffic accident."

"Oh come on, ya vampire," he teased, and continued to look down at the automobiles in the street. "Why not give them a pre-show bonus?" He waved at someone who must've spotted him, smiling goofily.

"Robert, stop it," Page tried to sound stern but ended up snickering. "You fucking hippie ass nudist."

He finally left the window, to push a rolling tray toward the bed. "I already accomplished breakfast. Got a little bit of everything, baby."

"I wouldn't mind those pancakes," the guitarist announced as Robert uncovered platters of food. 

Robert was pleased she tucked into the pancakes and sausage with gusto; he didn't like that she ate like a bird. Especially when there was an album to finish or the like she subsisted on cigarettes, dedication, coffee and cocaine. She was as unclad as he was, but since it was only them right now she ate as she was, still in bed, for once not self-conscious. They had got into town the night before, having came a day beforehand to spend some time alone together and the guitarist mentioned wanting to check out some of the record stores and little curio shops before they had to prepare for the show--the start of their North American Tour, which would end at Madison Square Garden, in New York. The others hadn't arrived yet.

Robert crawled in beside her, and she knew how touchy feely he is, so she let him snuggle against her. His head on her shoulder, a long arm around her waist, he was humming low in his throat while she finished her coffee, as she needed the pick me up. He really was such a sweetheart at times, so giving, still naive. "Hey. I wanted to go to a few record stores," she reminded him, afraid he'd dozed off.

"You're the one who slept late, as usual," he poked at her, but raised up to let her get out of bed. He watched as she opened up one of her suitcases and began to pull out possibilities for today's outfit. Long legged, short waisted, porcelain skin--she could've been a model if she wanted, he thought. But then the music world would've been all the poorer for it. "You're so beautiful," he blurted out before he could stop himself.

Having pulled on a pair of panties, she amusedly glanced over at him. "New pick up line you're trying? I think it's a little late for that."

He chuckled in chagrin. "I think I forget sometimes. But you are, though."

"Huh. Flatterer. You're the pretty one in this group, and I'm ok with that," she held some shirts up to herself, set them aside, then pulled out a dress.

A dress?? At Robert's expression, she explained she was going to be in disguise so they'd be able to move about without being mobbed by fans.

That was how they met Barb Monahan, who became another hand to Peter Grant, at Page's suggestion. The guitarist, conscious of the challenges still faced by loads of women despite her own successes, had encouraged the whole enterprise to hire more qualified women to fill positions, and to nobody's surprise, incidents of discrimination had skyrocketed. Where Richard was the tour manager, she was a sort of den mother, who acted as liaison between the employees and management, or in many cases, Zeppelin roadies and female employees, as she often traveled with the band, too. 

Barb was flipping through used records at her favorite record store when she noticed a tall guy dressed in a nice suit and dark sunglasses entered the store, with his wild blond hair in a ponytail and under a fedora. On his arm was a tall, slim girl, her black hair braided in a single thick braid, with a huge, ridiculous sunhat, wearing a below-the-knee loose sundress with a crazy zigzag pattern on it. She watched them from under her eyelashes as they each scattered to different sections, greedily raking over titles with their eyes. Both behaved like kids in a candy store, which made the redhead smile. That was the look of a music lover in their element. The raven-haired lady made her way around, eventually ending up beside Barb. "Oh, excuse me," the woman spoke in her posh accent. "Was just looking for things to add to my collection."

"Sorry, it's a tight squeeze between these tables," Barb apologized, and stood aside to let her by. "I was just in here getting some Led Zeppelin 8-tracks for my car."

"Led Zeppelin, hm? Which ones?"

"Two and four, my favorites. I plan on gettin' more as money allows," Barb answered in her Southern drawl.

The dark-haired woman boldly looked the other up and down, took in the beefy, curvy, red-haired woman, looked her in her honey-brown eyes. "You're gorgeous," she said as if she was discussing the weather. "Would you like to see the Zeppelin show tomorrow?"

"Hell yeah I would!"

"Then you're in. Thing is, you'll have to come to my hotel room to get the ticket. If that's all right," the slender woman said softly, with a wolfish grin. She took the redhead's hand, stroked the back of her hand with her thumb.

"That might be fun," said Barb. "But only if you let me give you a ride in my car so we can listen to the 8-tracks."

"What kind of car do you have?"

"It's a brand new Ford Maverick, right over there," she pointed with her chin, and across the street was a cherry red Maverick with a spoiler and racing stripes, with a mural of Page St James playing guitar along the side.

"How could I refuse?" laughed the woman in the ugly sundress. "What's your name, by the way?"

"Barb. Barb Monahan."

"Pleased to meet you, my sweet. I'm--"

"God, I know who you are, even in that getup," guffawed Barb. "Page St James, the greatest guitarist for the greatest band in the world!"

"Damn," chuckled Page. "I thought I was so clever."

"I don't think many would recognize you, I have so many magazines and posters of you I'd know your face anywhere," Barb said, and blushed. She had an idea of what Page wanted to do back at the hotel room.

"Planty," she called to Robert, who noticed the sexy redhead and threaded his way through the rows of tables. "Wanna go for a ride in the St Jamesmobile?" she pointed at the red car.

"You have to be kidding me," Robert burst out incredulously. "That's..wow, that's so over the top. It's you."

Page play-punched him in the shoulder. "Well, come on. She's coming to the show tomorrow, once I get her ticket sorted, we're gonna need some girl time." She smiled. He couldn't help but notice them holding hands.

"Uh huh. Right." Robert shook his head. "You must have better pick up lines than me. That was smooth, Pagey. Real smooth."

He was in and out of consciousness, and when he had enough of his mind he worried about his wife, the kids--OH, the children. He could still hear them all screaming as he lay helplessly, his head still stuck in the windshield of the rented car that had skidded off the road and down and embankment. Maureen hadn't moved, was barely breathing, he thought she was dying. She might still not make it for all he knew. He squeezed out tears from his puffy eyes, sobbed as doctors and nurses busily came in and out of the room, checking this, writing on clipboards, whispering in hushed voices around him. 

He heard another set of footsteps approaching, the stride he knew well, it was Page. "Robert, are you awake?"

"Yeah," he answered, his mouth dry. "Pagey." The familiar face bent over him, worried. "What's happening? Where's Maureen?"

"She's been given a transfusion, she has pretty bad internal bleeding," the guitarist answered. She took his hand again, he squeezed it and she was so glad for the strength he had in his grip. "As soon as they can, you'll be flown back to the UK."

"Karac and Carmen?"

"They had some bruises and gashes, nothing broken. They'll be releasing them to Shirley soon."

"Page, thank God you're here. I remember you saying Scarlet was fine?"

She nodded.

"Stay with me," he whispered, looking up at her, his face battered, scalp lacerated but now stitched, pleading. "I know this is bad, but please. Stay with me."

"I'm here," she assured him. "I'll be with you." She bent and very gently brushed her lips across his. "I love you."

He smiled, exhausted, closed his eyes that were leaking tears. "I love you, my Pagey," he said softly. Page turned to find the nurses staring at her, they had been informed this patient's critically injured wife was getting a blood transfusion, and here he is getting kissed by someone else. She gave them a look that said 'speak of this and die', so they all wisely went back to their business. Before he went completely out again, Robert thought, how ironic. Now she'll acknowledge him in public, all it took was him almost dying. Always so careful. So circumspect, St James. Her personal life, intimate contacts, were kept intensely private. And they were fewer than the rumors and tall tales and myths told about her, but she did have them.

"I'll be with you," her voice echoed in his traumatised, medicated brain.

She knew the risks, the obstacles a woman must navigate in this world she'd chosen for herself, a world of musicians and businessmen, but she decided from an early age nobody but her controlled her destiny.

Robert loved that about her, and her genius, her talent, her leadership of the Zeppelin. He loved her so much, so so much. All he wanted to do was love her, all he ever wanted was to wake up with a soul mate the rest of his days like the fairy tales, happily ever after. He wanted to make her happy, wanted it so badly.

Page was nearly to the door of the room when she heard him sob softly as he fell into the arms of Morpheus, "Why won't--why won't you let me love you? Do what you want to me.."

A strangled sob found its way out of her, but somehow she stayed upright.

She returned to the waiting area to check on Scarlet, who was now sleeping in Charlotte's lap. Such a good girl, Charlotte--a second mother to Scarlet, and the one she let most of the public assume was her real mother. Their mutual friend, another director, Martin Sinclair, was rumored to be the father, which she preferred. Let them bark up the wrong tree. 

Shirley was there, looking bedraggled and exhausted like the rest of them. Page was still wearing the same men's suit and shirt she had worn to meet Kenneth, as she hadn't reckoned on rushing to Rome for an emergency, and she could really use a shower. "Richard," Page directed at the tour manager. "I'm going to grab a little nap, if I can. Let me know when they are preparing to leave for London."

"You don't think you're going in that tiny, rented, private plane, do you?" Shirley said at last, a heavy dark eyebrow raised at Page from two rows down. "They need all the room they can get for medical equipment."

"I'm going; I promised him," Page inisted, her voice carefully quiet and even.

"You're not family."

"Yes I am, all his bandmates are his family."

"Yes, it seems the mystery of your bastard child is solved," the Indian woman snapped.

"We all know Robert's indulgences, don't we? I know you do, even more than Maureen," hissed Page, fighting to keep her voice down. At Maureen's sister's dark brown eyes widening, the guitarist laughed. "It'd be a shame if Robert's poor wife had to be subjected to all these sordid tales while trying to recover from such injuries."

Page St James don't play.

"How--," Shirley began.

"I can read him like a book," the slender wisp of a woman in a tailored, rumpled men's suit snorted. "I'm also not stupid." Page's face softened. "I wanted to thank you, though. For being there, for getting them transported to the hospital, for taking care of the children with Charlotte. I'm quite serious, thank you."

Shirly stared at her, a flush coming to that brown skin. "I don't know what to say. I'm, I'm sorry. I'm the pot calling the kettle black, huh?"

"It is what it is," Page shrugged. "I'm going on the transport with Robert. I'd rather not have to fight you, though. You and Maureen have nothing to fear from me."

Robert was only vaguely aware of being put on a cramped private plane for the journey back to England. He heard Page's voice occasionally, found himself glad; she was here, she hadn't left.

(Silent woman in the night, you came  
Took my seed from my shaking frame  
Same old fire, another flame  
And the wheel rolls on  
Silent woman through the flames, you come  
From the deep behind the sun  
Seems my nightmares, have just begun  
Left me barely holding on)

She came to him silently, when they were totally alone at Bron-yr-Aur. The women had absconded with the children to the village for a night for a room with running water and electricity. She slid over him like pale moonlight as Luna rises, him laying in the bed, conscious of the side Maureen had left empty. She was bare, he felt her small breasts when she pressed herself against him. His arm went around her, able to make out in the moon's illumination through the single window in the bedroom the side of her face. He felt her lips on his neck and her hands on his dick, having slid his pyjama bottoms down.

"Pagey," he said softly.

"Roblove," she breathed, rubbing herself against him.

Hair black as night melting into the shadows, parts of her face visible from the moonlight, the curve of her hip. 

She was on top of him, impaling herself on his enormous member, sinking down, down.

"Pagelove, are you...unnh, are you sure?" Robert asked her.

"I need to feel you," was the answer. 

Moving. She was moving on him, taking all of him, just like that. They fit together, click, solid, his hands on her narrow hips, he thrust up into her. He was falling, falling, into an abyss, into nothing, into everything.

Oh, Pagey.

Here I am. She sees me, sees me at last, he thought. 

He grabs her ass, squeezes, drives himself further into her. He feels the walls enclosing him tighten, shudder, she's coming, moaning her climax, but he wants her to scream, wail as he does when she gets him off, so he keeps going, faster, harder.

Then he flips her and he's on top, still inside her. He pulls her closer, her ass not even on the bed now, and he plows her. 

Let me take you there, Pagey, he says in his head.

She squeals, thrashes, he's hitting it just right now it seems. Alabaster body stiffens, shakes, she comes. A throaty yowl comes out of her throat, he feels her tighten around him again and grow more slick. Close enough. He can't last any longer, he lets go, filling her with his come. He spasms and spasms, finally spending himself in her, before collapsing beside her.

She kissed his cheek, snuggled into his warmth. This. Oh, this. Why couldn't it be like this forever.

/2018 Interview  
Terry Reid

Interviewer: You're such a legend. Even Led Zeppelin had considered you. Wanna go into that story?

"Sometimes I feel like I should get finder's fees," Terry laughs. "It'd be big if Pagey had given me a finders fee. Naw, me and Page get on fine hah! But what it was, she was with the Yardbirds, right?

I: Right.

"He couldn't call it the Yardbirds anymore, Peter Grant says, there's a hundred different versions of them--if you call it the Yardbirds, I quit." Both men laugh. 

I: You just happened to know Robert Plant, right?

"Well, we met on the road when they (Robert and Bonzo) were in the Band of Joy," Terry begins. Even now as an old man, he was animated and captivating, and many would just sit enraptured all day listening to his stories. "I was going on tour with the Stones so I'm like, when I get back, we can get together, cause I'd known Pagey since oh, '65. But yeah, I was going on tour, that's gonna take about ten minutes," he guffawed. "Then she goes, oh no no, we gotta do it now. So I remembered the bloke from the Band of Joy, and I called Page up, said this is what you should do, you know?"

I: Give him a call, the rest is history.

"Well, what's funny is both Page and G kept calling me back about Percy. We weren't able to find shit about him, she was complaining. Thought something had to be wrong. Peter gives me a ring, asks me well what does he look like? Well, he looks a damn sight better'n you, I tells him, hah! That went over well."

I: You told Peter Grant that?

"Well, yeah. It's the truth anyways. Page called me that last time before they went to check him out asking the same thing, I say, he looks like an Adonis. Like he fell from the heavens, with a voice to match."

I: Did she ever admit you were right?

"Sometime later she did pretty much admit I was right. But between us schoolboys, I still think Pagey is better looking! Don't tell Percy!" Both men laugh again 

I: Did you have a crush on her?

"I think we all did," Terry answered honestly. "But she's got bigger balls than all of us combined."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm gonna like, shut up now hahaha. Or at least try to.
> 
> I'm an addict. I cant stop!
> 
> Hope you liked this wacky ride.
> 
> Kudos, comments, loves welcome.


End file.
